Secret Tears
by brokenmoonlight
Summary: Even permanently happy people like Vince need a little cry every now and then.


**A/N: I don't know where this came from, I was just in an angsty mood, and while I was trying to do my creative writing course work, this happened!**

**Disclaimer: Belongs to the lovely Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. **

**xxxx**

Every time he did this, it was in private – **always** in private. Not that it happened often. But, on the rare occasions that it had, there had never been a reason for it – nothing that came straight to mind, anyway. He wasn't supposed to cry. His life was bright colours and music, rainbows and candy-floss. It wasn't expected of him to be miserable. It was like it was written in stone that nothing could ever upset Vince Noir – which is why, when he did feel the need for a good cry, he made sure no one was around to see it. It was hard work being perfect, and even people like Vince needed time off from it once in a while.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was radiating happily in the brilliant blue sky, the birds were singing, the bright green trees were swaying gently in the breeze, and children walking along the street below were giggling as they sucked on ice-creams and lollies, swinging on their parent's arms. Cars swept down the road with summer tunes wafting out the open windows and a cat lolled lazily on a mossy wall. So, really, if there was ever a day to be sad, this certainly wasn't it – but however hard he tried, Vince just couldn't help it.

He turned away from the open window and slid down the wall with a heavy sigh, the first tears welling in his eyes and tipping over the brims, trickling down his face. One dropped down over his nose, making it tickle, and he swiped it away with the back of his hand. Crying confused him – he felt so ungrateful, weeping for a reason he couldn't think of when there were plenty of others worse off than he was. He was one of the lucky ones – he had brilliant friends (amongst the more shallow ones), a fabulous wardrobe, great taste in music, an envious social life, amazing hair and a pretty face. So why, oh why, was he sitting here feeling sorry for himself?

He pulled his knees up to his chin and rested his head on them, a sob getting caught in his throat. He coughed, but for some reason it only made it worse, and he put his hands to his head, pulling at his hair as he took in a sharp, shaky breath, the trickle of tears turning into a flood as he gave in and openly wept, the hot drops running over his lips, and he licked them away, the sour saltiness making him pull a face and cry even harder.

After a while, his stomach started to ache as the muscles began to protest sharply against being clenched in his doubled over position. He didn't care though, and the more he shook, the more it hurt, and the more it hurt, the more he wailed, his nose running and his head feeling like it was about to explode. He thought about reaching for a tissue, but every ounce of energy had been completely sucked from him, so he settled for wiping face against his knees, not caring about the fact that he was rubbing snot and eyeliner all over his favourite skinny jeans. He was completely wretched.

A sudden bang from downstairs made him jump violently. Panicking, and cursing the fact that he had just assumed that he had the flat to himself for the whole afternoon, he tried to move – tried, but failed. He remained frozen in place, practically hyperventilating as he heard step after step thump up the stairs. He scrunched himself up even smaller, hoping that it would somehow make him invisible.

"Vince?"

Damn it.

He kept his head down, keeping as quiet and as still as possible, which was hard when his shoulders were trembling, heaving up and down against his will. He soon felt a presence beside him, and a burning sensation crept up his neck and over his face, his cheeks stinging as he felt them flushing red.

A voice, a gentle, concerned, and slightly scared voice, wafted over him.

"Vince? Hey - what's happened, little man?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder as the bigger man sat down next to him, and even though he wanted to pull away and run off in shame, the tender touch sent an electricity through him that made him sob even more uncontrollably. He felt a hand under his chin, forcing his gaze up to meet that of his friend's. He tried to look away, but those confused brown eyes locked onto his shiny blue ones, and he crumbled completely, throwing his arms around Howard's neck and burying his head against him, tears cascading over his perfectly sculpted features and dripping down to form a wet patch on Howard's shirt. Howard's arms went round the smaller man, and he rocked him slowly, totally bewildered by his out-of-character behaviour.

Vince clutched at him, still feeling mortally embarrassed but unable to tear himself away. He felt Howard's hands on his face, trying to look at him again, but he twisted and kept his face buried in Howard's neck, the skin now damp and sticky.

"Vince, please look at me."

Vince shook his head against him and Howard sighed.

"Do you want to tell me what's upset you? I've never seen you like this."

Vince shook his head again and continued to shake, his sobs becoming louder, so Howard just held him tightly.

"Shhh, all right – it's okay, little man, it's okay," Howard soothed, rubbing Vince's arm. He continued to rock him like he was a small child, whispering words of comfort in his ear.

It was a long, ten minutes before Vince finally started to calm down. He felt awful. His head throbbed, his nose was bunged up and his eyes were red raw and stinging. He looked up at Howard – he had to eventually – and gave him a watery smile. Howard reached up and brushed Vince's hair back from his face, the feathered stands wet and clinging to his skin.

"I'm sorry," Vince whispered hoarsely, wiping his hands over his face.

"Don't be. But what..."

Vince took his hands and squeezed them gently. "Nothing bad has happened, I promise. I was just feeling a little low, that's all."

"A **little **low?"

"Please, Howard – don't." He tried to smile again, a forced laugh escaping his lips. "God, I must look a right mess." He stood up on unsteady legs and made to move towards the bathroom, but Howard got up quickly and grabbed his wrist.

"Wait. I..." he sighed, struggling to find the right words. "Don't ever feel like you can't talk to me, okay? You can tell me anything, no matter what it is. I won't ever judge you – I promise."

Vince smiled properly for the first time that day, the sadness in his eyes lifting slightly as his heart swelled at his friend's words. "Thanks, Howard." His stomach flipped unsettlingly as he turned away, and he placed a hand to it, suddenly realising, once he'd entered the bathroom and locked the door, what it was that had caused his upset. It hit him hard, and he grabbed onto the sink for support.

Howard.

It had always been about Howard.


End file.
